


Explain Yourself.

by FranklyMrShankly



Series: Our Life, Together [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Adorable, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kidfic, Who the fuck am I?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FranklyMrShankly/pseuds/FranklyMrShankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank and Gerard have a minor safety-related disagreement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explain Yourself.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tiny little one-shot. I was bored. I hope you enjoy it.

“Gerard! Oh my fucking god. GET IN HERE!”

I ran from my work-space into the living room where Frank was vacuuming. “Yeah, baby? What’s wrong?” My initial assumption that he’d hurt himself or gotten a call from the kids’ school or something was shattered as I took in his form. His chest was heaving and his eyes were narrowed. Frank was angry. Angry with _me._

Looking around to find the source of my husband’s ire, I noticed that he’d pulled an end table away from the wall to vacuum. Where it had been sitting, I could see pink, black, and orange Sharpies on the ground. There was also a bunch of little skulls and spiders doodled on the wall.

“…oh.”

“Yes. Oh,” Frank said. “How many times do I have to ask you to put your shit on the higher shelves? Or better yet, lock your fucking work-room!”

“I’m sorry, Frank,” I attempted to soothe. “I still have a can of paint from when we did this room in the garage. I will scrub it and repaint it this weekend. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad that they drew on the wall, G. I’m mad that they were able to get to the Sharpies. I know where you keep those, and that means they reached into a kit that also has open-razor sharpeners, exact-o knives, easel clips and god knows what other things. Some of the stuff you use is dangerous, you know! Toxic paints and removers, palette knives… Motherfucker I know for sure you have a heat gun in there, too,” Frank was fuming and I couldn’t blame him.

Since we’d begun adopting children, Frank had added this new facet onto his already amazing, caring, bad-ass personality; Frank was an amazing dad.

And right now, Frank was pissed off at me because he assumed that I left the door open to a room where I kept dangerous stuff.

“Come with me, baby.” I took Frank’s hand and led him back down the hallway of our large, ranch-style house. When we got to my work room, I held his hand and opened the door. Frank gasped, no one was allowed in here, usually. Before I would invite anyone in, I’d always made sure to turn paintings to the walls and hide unfinished panels and sketches in portfolios or closed sketchbooks. I rarely let people see my unfinished work, except sometimes Frank, when I needed his inspiration or encouragement. Admittedly, my style was dark and it had a lot to do with my own inner-demons. A sketchbook can be like a diary.

I had been working in this room all morning, though. Frank had probably assumed I was holed up with a project, but I had been thinking about what my art was to me and who I was starting to become – I decided to make a change.

When Frank stepped inside, he was met with a floor that was clean of debris, if not paint splatters. The shelves were neatly organized once more, as well. I had set everything that was toxic, sharp, flammable, or otherwise dangerous on the top two rows of shelves; this included the aforementioned heat gun. The shelves started at about five and a half feet, so I knew the items were safe from the kids’… and maybe Frank’s... hands.

The bottom two shelves were stocked with construction paper, crayons, pencils, markers, safety scissors, glue sticks, glitter, stickers, pipe cleaners, finger paints and anything else a kid might want to create with.

I watched Frank go wide eyed as he took in the storage situation and meandered to my desk and drafting tables, trying the drawers and finding them all protected with child-safety additions.

Then his eyes caught on the far corner. I used to stack new canvases and supplies there. I would just come home from the art shop and dump the bags in the corner until I got around to needing something inside of them. Now, in that corner was a largish wooden table with six chairs. Behind the table was a mural I painted late the night before. There were dragons and fairies and castles and guitars and aliens. Nothing made sense and I drew from each of the kid’s favorite things for inspiration. On the other side of the corner I stapled in log strands of wire adorned with clothespins; places to hang the kids’ creations. I knew we were going to make amazing memories in that corner.

Frank had tears in his eyes. “Gerard… this is great…. But are you sure? This is your space, the only part of the house that’s just yours. Do you want to share it with the kids?”

“No, not always. I still need my private space to work or decompress. But maybe now I want to have a space to spend time with you and the kids doing what I love? I installed a latch on the door from the outside, so that they can’t get in when I’m not in here, and I won’t _always_ let them in but… I want them in here with me sometimes. They can color or whatever in their corner and I can work over here. I can put the radio on and we can sing while we work. I just thought it would be nice to make it safe and inviting for them to share this space with me sometimes,” I was rambling. I was the _KING_ of rambling, but I wanted Frank to be happy with what I had done. Even letting someone in part-time was a big deal to me.

“You’re an amazing man, Gerard Iero-Way,” Frank said as he turned to me with a proud smile, pulling me down into a deep kiss.

“You’re even better, Frank Iero-Way,” I murmured into his mouth. He laughed and pulled back, nipping at the tip of my nose.

Stepping away, he shot me a fake glare and raised his eyebrows. “So, if this place is all so safe and organized now, where did they get the Sharpies?” he asked me, trying to prove a point. “That drawing wasn’t there yesterday evening. I know because I spent a lot of time chasing the girls out of that corner.”

“Ah, yeah,” I laughed and I walked out of the workroom and into our bedroom. “Have the kids been in here today?” I asked Frank as he followed me.

“Yeah. Maggie and Max were both on the bed watching cartoons while I showered this morning. Left the door cracked open so I could hear them,” Frank added.

I bent down by the bed, picking up my messenger bag from where I’d dropped it the night before. I’d come home late from a convention and snuck into our room. The minute Frank saw me, he jumped me, pushing my bag off of my shoulders before undressing me greedily.  It had been kind of a great night. Coming home to my loving husband and sleeping daughters had inspired me to paint the mural and modify my workspace.

I opened the bag for Frank, showing him the usual stacks of paper I bring to conventions for drawing and signing. There was also a bag of Sharpies that I held out for him, conveniently missing shades of pink, orange, and black.

“Oh…,” Frank said.

“Oh,” I replied with a laugh, pulling my husband down to the bed with me. “Chill Super-Dad. We all make mistakes.”

He cursed me.

Then kissed me.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Frank and Gerard have adopted children named Maggie and Maxine. I purposely do not include the names and details of Frank's or Gerard's actual children out of respect for the kiddos. Just my personal decision. I hope you all enjoy this bit of fluff regardless. 
> 
> As always, wildly un-beta'd... bite me.
> 
> Find me on Twitter at @FranklyMisterS


End file.
